


When you're looking back at me

by aboutmikasa (Coco_c)



Series: Jeankasa [6]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, marco and erd are his wigmen, mentions of other mikasa and jean ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22076281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coco_c/pseuds/aboutmikasa
Summary: "People often asked if he knew her, if they occasionally met, being him a photographer and her a model. Little they cared about the details of his profession lacking the glamour of the runway, or that she had lived in Paris for a decade." | ... or how they attend a wedding and Jean remembers their randoms encounters over ten years.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein
Series: Jeankasa [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1409722
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	When you're looking back at me

**Author's Note:**

> An extremely late entry for the Jeankasa Month, AU week.

Of course, she would be at Eren's wedding, they grew up together. And he remembered every little detail regardless of Mikasa Ackerman. People often asked if he knew her, if they occasionally met, being him a photographer and her a model. Little they cared about the details of his profession lacking the glamour of the runway, or that she had lived in Paris for a decade. It wasn't as if they were more than acquaintances; bitter fact, Jean repeated to himself and the clueless barman. 

"I wanted to talk to her," he continued the not quite a conversation and the man serving his drink nodded as a professional trait. Not caring about the mumbling the guy did since ordering a cosmopolitan. "I should drink whiskey, neat. I know but I always want the opposite. And I don't like whiskey."

Armin called her name and Jean's eyes found her, or for a more accurate description, he looked for her where he already knew she was. The Mikasa radar precision never failed. 

For years he played dumb when someone asked his friends about her, not having the balls of asking himself. All those same years Jean tried hard to not internet-stalking her too much, succeeding mostly; then, the occasional IG story with the three of them appeared out of the blue, taking his breath away. Between them, with her almost smile and the fierce of her eyes. Her Mona Lisa eyes staring back, smirking an accusation, as is the real Mikasa knew he spent hours scrolling Armin's IG; even worse, as if she questioned why he didn't follow her. One day, he tapped follow by accident; if Marco, his supposedly best friend, getting tired and did it himself could be an accident. 

Her professional portfolio, runways and all the campaigns she worked in spread all over his life. Nothing too personal, maybe a picture with friends of boyfriends every two moons. 

A week later, she followed back, and yet follow never lead to interaction. Jean didn't like her stuff much, and when he did, his humble like got lost between the hordes of devoted fashionistas. Mikasa liked two of his photographs, sharing one; Jean's only viral content. 

None of them posted personal stuff, so, if Jean wanted details of her life, he had to wait for Eren or Amin uploading something. When they met too, people got curious about models and fashion, especially Historia and Reiner, as soon as they discovered someone in their little group was friends with her, the interrogations began. Her runways, fashion designers booking her, the sports line she designed, even the juicy rumors about her dating a famous actor. The last one remained undisclosed; Armin reminded the two bystanders she was his friend, not just a famous model. For Jean, ignoring her love life was a better option. 

She dated "the most handsome man alive", according to the stupid magazine and Jean read in the dentist's office; finding the woman of his dreams dated a famous actor while waiting for a root canal soured his mood. 

At some point, Historia and Reinier discussed her career as if they knew her and it irked Jean because none of them knew her as he did. Not that he could tell them, somehow not even him was sure if it happened.

Some delusion tricked him a long time ago, a memory he tried to keep under control. 

As he sat in the bar, his thoughts traveled to the summer they met. A bunch of seventeen kids going eighteen—desperate to adulting,—and her, the cosmopolitan beauty living and working in the Parisian fashion scene. No, she didn't belong in their little city or his life. Mikasa crossed his path by accident; an accident called the Jaeger family. Bless their souls. The half Japanese, half German nineteen-years-old exquisite girl moved to France when she was still a kid, but her family remained close to the Jaegers, visiting them once a year. 

Mikasa Ackerman embodied everything Jean dreamed in a girl, too cool for any of them, older and sophisticated. The girls he knew couldn't compete against a professional model. For years listened to Eren and Armin stories about their friend in France, then he saw her in person. Ever since her existence daunted him and his hormones exploded just hearing her name. 

Nothing about her was uninteresting to Jean, and yet she belonged to a galaxy far far away. Mikasa never talked to them, she wasn't rude or anything, but her age and experiences put more than an ocean between them. His personal goddess didn't talk much, enjoying her time alone with her headphones, swimming, or listening to Armin's stories. 

Back then, a chubby Jean Kirchstein stared at her, blushing when she noticed, the few times her eyes caught his puppy eyes yearning for her existence. 

Twenty-eight years old Jean wanted to smack his teen self, except even there, his eyes followed the sway of her hips and the dance of her skirt. The silk of her clothes hugged her figure and Jean pretended to care about the trendy dress and not the body wearing it; his eyes still caressed the exposed skin of her shoulders and long, long legs. Legs he admired a whole summer. He drank his beverage hating the jealousy inside him. Grown-up men shouldn't get angry at their past selves. 

Eren's parents rented a lake house every year and his friend invited them every summer since they became friends; a summer doing nothing sounded terrific, but his mom needed him in their bakery. The first summer he accepted the invitation was the last one Mikasa visited. Jean wanted to see her again but life didn't work as he wished and the model haunting his dreams stayed away from his life. Pictures in magazines weren't the same; even worse when she did nothing but couture for two years. It helped him, though, to keep his stalking at bay. 

Long periods of time not thinking about her accompanied his love life. Scarce as it was, he too had a love life. Sasha was the most important of all of them; when they were together, Jean didn't think about Mikasa Ackerman. He wasn't as innocent while dating Pieck, though, and his more recent ex asked him to unfollow the model.

A second cosmopolitan brought back the day his friends mocked him for being a virgin. He wasn't the only one, he couldn't be, but he stepped on the landmine Eren set for him and for two days all Sasha did was calling him cherry boy. 

"Shut up! You talk as if you've done something."

"More than you."

"And who's the brave one? You imaginary friend?" Jean snapped.

"Calm down cherry boy, you shouldn't be ashamed of your virginity, it makes you a great nun candidate. Don't you think Mikasa?"

The flu of oxygen stopped, and he didn't, couldn't articulate words. Since when had Mikasa listened to their conversation? 

"I think it's a private decision," she said apologetically. 

His face glowed in red. 

"It's not his decision, it's every chick and dude he has ever meet." Eren put his two cents in the most embarrassing conversation Jean'd remember. 

"The horse resemblance it's just for his face," and just like that Connie destroyed his dignity.

He wanted to scream, his confidence vanished as the girl of his dreams smiled at his roasting.

Early the same day she was swimming in the lake and he couldn't stop glancing at her stunning and fitted figure and she noticed. Not a chance she didn't notice; he was the most obvious teen around her. 

Jean hated his inadequacy and hormonal existence. His unattractive self wouldn't flatter a girl like Mikasa; all the pretenses of arrogance meant nothing when he saw her. 

The red dress caught his attention again and his stomach flipped watching her smile, fixing Eren's tie.

Years later she still had toned and perfect abs and the most beautiful collar bone. The entirety of his college life, Jean had her Vogue cover as his laptop background. Fashion meant nothing to him, but she wore a red swimsuit and was in a pool; a black and 'white photograph except for her swimsuit. In college he did an internship with the photographer behind the shoot; a gorgeous composition and the man paid homage to her beauty. 

She wore a red swimsuit that summer; Jean admired every curve of her body, the same way that night he and he and half the party admired her. As he ignored Connie calling him to dance the conga, he decided every year she became more and more ravishing. 

His thoughts traveled once again to the summer in the lake house. "The summer" as he and Marco called it. "Talk to her," texted Marco and Jean shook his head instead of replying. What would he say? "Remember me?" He cringed at the thought alone. How many idiots had used a line like that? 

He would never forget her or their summer. It was a warm and humid day; she wore a white bikini and his brain didn't work for the lack of blood in the upper half of his body. Jean knew she knew why he refused to move; he assumed she would tell her friends about his clear erection but none of them said a word. Jean jumped every time Eren spoke to him and waited for Dr. Jaeger to have a conversation with him, but no one said a word. His mortification decreased when Eren informed him he would spend the night with Armin. The release his body demanded never arrived as he felt guilty for lusting after a girl Eren's parents loved as their own, and with her own parents in the same house. 

His mom thought him better.

The book forgotten as he wondered if asking for her mail would annoy her. Eren mentioned she loved walking by the lake at night, and Jean questioned his own sanity for just considered doing the same. She would kick his lame virgin ass. Going against his deepest desires, the boy turned off the lights; it was a bright night and the lights coming from outside illuminated the small room. Maybe she was still walking and needed a sweater or something like that; he could help her. Maybe.

Wanting to see her affected him so badly, and as he scrubbed his eyes again, the hallucination tilted her head, searching the room, finding him alone. 

Dehydration caused severe symptoms, nothing else explained her presence there, or perhaps she wanted Eren. The girl tormenting his mind entered the room and closed the door behind her. Jean couldn't ask her if she got lost as she covered her mouth with one finger. 

For years, the image of Mikasa Ackerman's robe falling to the floor plagued his wettest dreams. With nothing but her underwear, she moved next to him and kissed him in a way no one ever kissed him. The next thing he felt was her body against him, straddling him and taking his shirt off. Her hand sliding and finding his cock, hard and aching for more. His hands shivering as he took her bra and touched her breasts. With her hips grinding against him, she moaned, and he summoned all his energy to not to come. 

"There's no rush," Mikasa whispered against his lips before her tongue invaded his mouth. 

Her skin burned his and Jean trembled with she arched her body for him. He kissed her and lost himself exploring her body. "Slow", "there", "more", "yes" and "again" were her breathless instructions and he followed them. Mikasa showed him the way and Jean complied, wanting to make her feel a fraction of what he felt. 

"Jean," Mikasa said his name in the most perfect way, and his cock ached for her. With her eyes piercing his and setting him on fire, Mikasa Ackerman mellowed her words, toasting his brain, "Can I fuck you?"

"Please," Jean begged. 

As he entered her body, Mikasa cast a spell on him, claiming him.

She was his alpha, and he knew it. 

The rocking motion of her hips, her eyes locked on his, her deep and erotic kisses, his hands exploring her body… Jean remembered all. She squeezed him to prevent him to finish, "not yet," she moaned, putting his finger on her clit, her own finger teaching him what she liked. 

The rosary of Mikasas he prayed every time she impaled herself with his cock, ended with a desperate growl as he exploded in ecstasy. She kissed him to prevent the entire house to find their nighttime endeavors. Resting in abandonment against her body, Jean tried to regain his composure. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized, ashamed to cum before her. 

"Jean," she kissed him, her torso still touching him, her nipples still hard. "We haven't finished."

That night Jean lost his virginity and learned how to pleasure a woman with his mouth. 

The perfect first time and Jean woke up searching for the girl of his dreams; she wasn't there. He went to her room and found Carla; it was her the one who told him Mikasa and her parents left early that morning. 

For years a discarded condom in the bathroom was the only thing that proved it wasn't a dream. 

Jean changed his order to a club soda, if he drank more, making a fool of himself wasn't much of a stretch. The last thing he needed was her witnessing his stupidity.

"Why don't you invite her for a drink?" The barman asked as if it wasn't a big of a deal, following Jean's stare and looking her way. "She's pretty."

"Yeah, she is," he agreed to the last part. "I don't know how to talk to her." 

The first time they talked, really talked, she was looking for Armin and Jean was hiding from his ex-girlfriend, and as she walked to find her friend, Jean said a cringe-worthy "You have pretty black hair."

His past-self pissed him off.

Having a decent conversation with her exceeded his abilities, he discovered one day after his twenty-one birthday. He didn't have plans to meet Eren or Armin and yet they called him, asking if he wanted to go to some fancy fashion event. Like a moth attracted to the flame, Jean ditched all his plans wanting to see her. In an ocean of hot people, he found her, too busy to notice him. It wasn't his finest moment, still mourning his breakup, and seeing Sasha talking and dancing increased his anxiety. Jean wanted an exit and went to the first door he found, a too fancied room for him to be there.

He texted Marco and begged him to save him when his personal goddess appeared.

"Armin?" He looked at her like a little kid found in a place he shouldn't be. "Hi."

"Hi," Jean muttered, "I needed a break from people."

Mikasa nodded and remained silent. She fixed her hair and Jean wanted to tell her she looked beautiful. None of them spoke, and he didn't know what to say or how to say it. 

"Are you still living in Paris?" He asked, his phone vibrating with an incredulous Marco, telling him to ask her out. 

"Yes."

"I went with my mom last year," Mikasa watched him through the mirror. "Not Paris, though, Toulouse. My grandmother lives there."

She spoke in French, asking with a strong Parisian accent about his travel. His rusty French, handy enough to keep the conversation; the usual questions about the places he visited, food and what he enjoyed the most. Jean didn't mind the small talk as long as it was her. He blushed and smiled when she mentioned his cute accent. 

Then her phone rang and just as she opened the door, he called her name. 

"Yes?"

Panic rose and Jean wanted to scream, blaming Marco. Why did he stop her?

" _Vos cheveux noirs… c'est très joli_." 

Jean read a quiet " _Merci_ " on her lips. 

After working his ass in the gym, the guy imagined a different scenario for the reunion; he thought his improved physique would impress Mikasa. He even dreamed of her fingers digging into his shoulders as he fucked her against a wall, her face buried in his shoulder. But as usual, he was awkward and inexpert around her. 

They chatted about the weather and street food. The weather! The rare moments Jean was honest with himself, he wondered why did she have sex with him of all people back in the lake. " _Why_ " bugged him for so long but he couldn't ask her, scared by the possible outcomes. 

"You know," the barman looked at him, cleaning and watching Mikasa. "You need to do something. I can send her a drink, What she likes?"

"I don't know," he dismissed coffee and Dr. Pepper. "The most delicate and exquisite concoction you can prepare, twice my rent, maybe?"

"She fancy?" The man asked, his eyes roaming over bottles of liquor. 

"She's used to fancy stuff." 

"She used to fancy, doesn't mean she only likes fancy." 

"Coffee," Jean said staring at her, for the ninetieth time. "She's fond of coffee."

"Great," his new friend smiled and ordered two espressos from the kitchen. "You just gave me the perfect opportunity to talk with the prettiest waitress around." 

He bought coffee for her the third time they met. His last year of college, his Silkscreen professor got him a great internship, working for the same photographer that made the red swimsuit cover. Another coincidence. Marco joked about the possibility of a photoshoot with her and Jean indulged the idea, until the day he arrived with the requested coffee and she was there, in the middle of makeup. The cups survived his triple mortal stumble. 

"Jean?" The makeup artist asked her to stay still until they finished and she obeyed. "Are you okay?"

"Hi," he didn't fall and one guy helped him, laughing his ass. "Don't worry." 

He stood there holding her gaze. A new haircut, a white gown, the diamonds for the shoot, and the security guy guarding the jewels close enough to hear their conversation. Customary questions about common friends, the usual "how's Paris?", and trivial nothings. People would doubt they were more than acquaintances. 

As he ran out of banal topics, Jean wanted to ask her about the rumors of her breakup with the actor. With his school projects taking all his free time, hanging with Eren was out of the question and that left him out of official sources. Marco texted him with news about the girl in his marketing class, the one Jean met by accident. He begged his friend to help him and yet he didn't reply; he didn't lose interest; still, it took him six more months before going steady with Pieck. 

Three hours of an amazing photoshoot—Jean sword by Robert Doisneau memory it wasn't just for her. Any intern in the world would sympathize with him and his frustration as his boss sent him to the darkroom before her crush's session. To increase his annoyance, he spilled ammonium thiosulfate over his new sweater, the one she complimented. Good thing no one came to the darkroom at that hour or the lack of shirt could have been difficult to explain. 

"Close the—" he didn't finish, and Mikasa smiled while checking out his body.

"Nice abs," her eyes trapping him like prey caught by his predator. 

He heard the door when she locked it. 

Mikasa kissed him and the table supported them, molding her body against him. Jean hissed when she gripped his ass. This time Jean knew what to do, or so he thought. With his mind swirling, his erection going harder, and the most beautiful women on earth grinding against him, he felt as virgin as the night she fucked him for the first time. 

She made him a puddle and as he sighed, Mikasa smiled against his lips.

"You're adorable," she mumbled, kissing him again. "Jean, I want you."

By the time he pushed her against the wall, Mikasa put a condom on him; hooking one of her legs around his hip. Jean built the speed, drilling into her, and making her orgasm. Like the first time, she kissed him, muffling their moans, preventing the few people still in the building from finding their little affair.

And just like the first time, Mikasa left him; at least that day she said goodbye. 

Jean didn't get to ask her, dumbfounded and exhausted he watched her walking away. His best friend told him it was a signal if the day he got Pieck's number, he hooked up with Mikasa Ackerman, he should read between the lines. Still, he enjoyed dating Pieck; they had great chemistry and for a couple of years, things worked fine. When they ended their relationship, their friendship remained. It was her the one introducing Hitch to his life. 

Weddings were weird, Jean considered, eyes traveling the expensive decorations, courtesy of the Jaegers. The grooms love each other, a well-known truth, but the display and the whole love is in the air atmosphere, and tables made clear who arrived alone went beyond his comprehension—especially the singles table situation. He got "lucky" and his childhood friends shared his table, including Sasha and his new Italian boyfriend. Jean ran to the bar as soon as he could, ignoring Connie and calling Marco traitor for not coming with him. 

Jean should fuck one of the girls smiling at him, not summoning the ghost of his love life. It wasn't his love life though, the trip down memory lane made stops only for Mikasa Ackerman. Beyond the summer in the lake house, he met her three times in ten years and had sex with her twice. Around her he was the same chubby inexperienced and awkward teen; as always, wanting to kiss her again competed with the desire of getting to know her, and let her get to know him. 

"Let's wait," Erd—the barman,—said, and it took Jean a few seconds to understand the meaning. 

"You sent her a drink?" 

"You sent her a drink," the man smiled and winked and Jean considered tackling the waitress. 

For five seconds Jean frowned, the fellow barman busied himself with another guest and the waitress arrived to her destination. The heat reached his cheeks and Jean turned his face, avoiding the delivery process. Things took an indescribable turn their last meeting and his anxiety skyrocket. What if she didn't want to talk to him? Mikasa knew he was there, she arrived for the rehearsal dinner and Jean kinda wanted to see her visiting him at night, but she didn't and maybe he needed to take a hint. 

They share a moment but moments ended, personal wishes aside. Did she remember? Not because it was a good day for her and he struggled between glancing in her direction or crawling to his room. 

Jean met her by chance almost two years ago, she waited for Armin and something seemed odd. It took all his bravery to ask her if she wanted his company, assuming she'd say no. 

"I like black coffee," she told him, "high altitude, brewed in Chemex but no fancy blends." 

A bad pronounced Chemex, the followed correction from a grumpy barista, and a super sweet coffee not-really coffee for him later, he joined her; while Armin arrived they sat on the same sofa and Mikasa stole his pain au chocolat. His favorite model forced her smiles but got lost on the dark liquid inside her cup. 

"Are you okay?" He expected her usual yes but got a sad smile instead.

"Long-distance relationships don't work." Her words, heavy and whispered. Mikasa sipped her coffee and rested the mug in her lap, holding it too tight in Jean's opinion. 

"Did you broke up with the No Name dude?"

"More like he dumped me," she clarified and requested a second pastry, a mission he gladly accomplished.

Black coffee and a flaky, buttery, and chocolaty French viennoiseries... Jean took mental notes. 

He liked a lot her quiet and stoic nature, and her dispirited gaze disheartened him. 

"He's an idiot." Jean couldn't believe someone would dare to break up with her. 

The girl of his dreams softened her expression and for the first time in all those years, she looked vulnerable. Her knuckles caressed his jab, releasing a thousand butterflies in his stomach. Her kiss was different, slow, tender, and with a different intensity. A long kiss. Mikasa laid her head on his shoulder and a calm Jean intertwined her fingers with his, sharing his warm. He wanted to soothe the pain in her eyes and leaned his head over hers, closing his eyes. 

They stayed like that until Armin called. After that Mikasa returned to Paris. 

But it happened too long ago and maybe she didn't remember.

"It took you too long," her voice startled him and she smirked, proud of the effect she had on him. 

"Hi," his heart joined the music, dancing and jumping. 

"It's the first time you make the first move," she played with the glass. "Well, kinda."

"Kinda?"

"Did you know this…" she moved the glass and Jean let go of his question for a while, indulging whatever point she wanted to make. “… is called " _amore_ "? Romantic coffee cocktails to get my attention? I'm impressed."

Jean processed the meaning of the concoction name, Erd sent a _love_ potion to his dream girl. Mikasa interrupted his thoughts, after reading them, "By the way, I didn't know we could get coffee here." 

Even if he wanted to play it cool, his blush gave him away. 

"I have connections." 

"Good to know," she sat in the empty barstool next to Jean and her appreciative hums distracted him. Erd deserved a huge tip and his eternal gratitude. 

To move the conversation from banalities challenged him but he couldn't waste his opportunity. He didn't want another two or three years, another boyfriend, another city before having a new chance. The mere idea twisted his guts. He wanted to know about her and asked questions that required details and explanations, personal questions and did his best until she laughed. 

What a beautiful sound. 

A sudden memory assault him, he made her laugh before. The summer in the lake house. 

"I need a ride to Stohess tomorrow," her finger draw uneven lines on his hand and he closed the space between them. 

“Sure.” Two days in a row around her? Luck did exist. Jean held her hand, stroking her fingers. “Work?”

"I moved."

"To Stohess?" he rushed the question, his stomach flipping. 

"Yeah, last month." 

Incredulity all over his face. 

He lived in Stohess and she lived in Stohess. 

Did he really have a chance? His mom always told him to grab the opportunities when they showed, however, he always struggled to get rid of his insecurities and around her everything intensified. 

"Want to get out of—"

Jean interrupted her with a whispered, "Date me."

It sounded more like a beg than he intended but it was finally out of his chest.

"Jean," she squeezed his hand. "You don't know me." 

"More reason to date me." 

“I'm not what you think I am,” she murmured but Jean grabbed the tenuous little something trembling in her eyes. “Rita Hayward said, a man goes to bed with Rita Hayworth and wakes up with me. I get what she meant.” Her fingers traced his jaw. “You like me, I'm not playing hard to get, trust me," a soft sigh paused her words, “I'm not what you think I am.”

Jean took her face between his hands, kissing her lightly on the lips, and she let him. 

"Mikasa, give me the chance to prove to you this can work. We can work." 

"Jean..." he didn't let her finish, kissing her again.

Not knowing where his courage came from, he rested his forehead on hers. 

"Please, Mikasa, give me a chance." 

That night, Jean shared her bed. Every kiss meant something, every touch had a deep purpose. She told him she would prove him wrong about them, and he told her the same. He believed every word. Perhaps he didn't have a name for his feelings but they had been there for a decade. Lethargic and obscured by hormones and lust, but there. 

He rocked back and forth, sweating, trembling and whispering her name, tasting every inch of her body. Mikasa took him, melted him and rewarding him every time his cock hit the right places. She didn’t scream his name when her orgasm exploded but she moaned it after, whilst her hands caressed his shoulders or when adjusting her hips to allow deeper thrusts, when she moved for him, and again as he collapsed over her. 

Naked and with her arms around her, Jean felt greedy and happy and yet, curious. 

"Why?" he asked realizing the vagueness of his question.

"Did I go to your room that night?" She completed and Jean nodded. 

"Because I liked you."

"Me?" He questioned, skeptical, and Mikasa rolled her eyes, leaning to him and brushing her lips against his cheek.

Mikasa played with his hair.

"Jean, have you ever considered you like me because I’m a model and I look the way I look…?" 

“ _I told you_ ” written on her face. He understood her own insecurities, somehow his own matched hers. 

"Have you ever considered that I feel the way I feel," Jean stressed the pronouns, "because you went to my room even when I looked the way I looked?” Her soft smile disarmed him, for cliché it was, Jean placed her hand against his chest, his heart explained better than him. “Mikasa, I won't deny your body makes me stupid, but it's not all I like about you, and I—,” he stuttered when she kissed the hand caressing her face. “I still can't believe you wanted me." 

He loved the way she kissed him. 

His incredulity changed back at his fangirling state when Mikasa showed him again how much she liked him. 

At dawn, an exhausted, satisfied and happy Jean closed his eyes, hugging the sleepy girl he had been falling in love with little by little over the years. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for years, one or two lines every now and then, and going between a sad "they will never be a thing" and "they live happily ever after".  
> If you read it and are feeling it, can you tell me what do you think were Mikasa's actions and thoughts over the same 10 years? ;)


End file.
